


Aperture

by ihighlydoubtthat



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Fashion photography, Lust, M/M, Male Model, My first and probably last AU, age gap, just want, photoshoot, zero fluff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihighlydoubtthat/pseuds/ihighlydoubtthat
Summary: Renowned fashion photographer, Armie Hammer, finds himself unnervingly drawn to a young model he’s asked to shoot.





	1. Intrusion

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a bit different to what I usually do so let me know what you think.  
> I plan to make this a four-parter- each chapter featuring a different photoshoot set up. And yes there will be smut.  
> I’m c-u-at-midnight on Tumblr :)

"Don't forget, there's one more."

Armie sighed loud enough to adequately express his disappointment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why he'd agreed to do this test was beyond him. He'd never seen the woman and what exactly was so special about her that Haider had insisted he shoot her tonight? He wanted to be warm with whiskey, quietly numbed from his stress. It was getting late and the ache of the day was bothering him into a frustration he could barely contain.

"Fine, yes, send her in," he snapped, turning his back to the door and resetting his camera on the tripod. He'd leave the room as is- bright white backdrop and wide spotlights. Sure to bring up every flaw, every time-wasting second of the model's face. He'd heard she'd just signed to the top New York agency but he didn't shoot just anyone- he really thought Haider was joking when he'd suggested it, but his relentless pleading had drawn him into agreement. 

"It's a he, Armie. Not a girl."

"What?" He span round to check he'd heard his assistant correctly and saw a sillouhette at the far end of the room, in a corner dark beyond the paper backdrop. His assistant had vanished impossibly fast and left him alone with this unexpected shadow. 

"Come on then," he exhaled impatiently and turned his back once more to fiddle with the setting on his camera, casually kicking his leather holdall out the way - half packed with the intention of leaving as quickly as possible over an hour ago. 

When he realised he hadn't heard a sound behind him, he turned his head, about to yell something to make his importance known. Something with a patronising tinge like _I don't have all fucking day, kid._ But on parting lips, the words halted urgently in his throat- witnessing what only moments ago had been an unwanted intrusion to his evening. 

Standing dead centre to the backdrop, under the glow of lights stood a tall, fascinatingly slender boy with a glossy mop of brunette curls that he gently brushed away from his eyes with pianist fingers. His white t-shirt was so thin, Armie swore he could almost tell the exact shade of his skin underneath. His black jeans cropped two inches above the top of leather boots; displaying a band of creamy skin like a beckoning Luna horizon.

"Hi," the model said quietly, after a silent few seconds in which Armie's mouth hung open limply and he'd failed to blink. Armie had watched his lips part- a rose-laqured opening through which he knew a word had been spoken, though couldn't register exactly what. 

Haider was right. Whatever IT was, the kid sure had it. He'd turned up at a runway casting last week out of the blue and been hired on the spot. When Haider called Armie to make sure he shot him before he left town, from the description he'd been given he assumed Haider had been talking about a woman. "Perfect, like you wouldn't believe. The purest skin, reddest lips and my god the hair- you'll just want to weep into it Armie, I'm telling you."

"Please," Armie cleared his throat. "Take off your shoes and stand in the middle there." He gestured flippantly to a small guide mark on the floor and tried to peel his eyes away as the boy walked with effortless grace to the side of the backdrop and removed both his boots and socks. He returned to the marked spot and shoved as much of his long fingers as would fit into the tight pockets of his jeans.

Feigning a nonchalance he could barely muster, Armie lit up a cigarette and took a long drag before asking in exhalation, "What's your name, kid?"

"Timothee. Chalamet." 

_Of course it is. Of course you have a sexy French name that rolls around the mouth beautifully and drips from the end of your tongue like fucking liquid gold._

If it weren't for the serious expression on his face, Timothee would have looked like a deer in headlights; all long limbs and big eyes. He looked like he belonged to the nighttime. He belonged under the gaze of others- made glitter by the make up and lights, like a doll so expensive and rare you were never allowed take it out of the box. 

Armie began to shoot- looking through the lens of his camera allowed him to stare brazenly at his mouth, his eyelashes, the gentle arch in his feet. God, his feet. Barefoot and almost as pale as the paper he was standing on. Armie wanted to run his lips along their soles in worship. He wanted to take every inch of exposed skin and hold it in between his lips, press them against it- breathe him in. 

"Am I doing okay?" Timothee spoke softly as he stood still under Armie's flash.

"Don't talk, kid." _Don't say another word, don't ask for approval- don't make me memorise the innocence in your voice._ "I just need you to be still for me." 

Armie watched a repressed smile etch it’s way into the corners of Timothée´s mouth. Something playful danced there and he tried not to read into it- pretended he hadn’t noticed. Told himself he was just a friendly, nervous kid. 

But fleetingly, and unable to refrain, he indulged in a second's thought as to how Timothee would look frozen on film- post-coital and shirtless on his hardwood floor. Daybreak leaking in through the blinds to paint his concave abdomen with stripes of muted ochre. The most perfect middle-page spread. 

He wanted any reason to put his fingers on him but Timothee seemed almost off limits, a precious, porcelain exhibit- despite everything about him asking, begging, to be touched. Eventually Armie struck upon a reason and careful not to appear predatory, approached Timothee slowly, keeping his eyes on the loose chestnut curls that framed his chiselled jaw. 

"You do this hair yourself?" He managed flatly, reaching down to tease a few curls as if they were an issue of some kind- moving a lock one way then back again to its original resting place, because it had been achingly perfect to start with. "Or were you in make up before you got here?"

"No, I just came from school." He glanced down at the floor and then back up, looking straight into Armie's eyes but with a sudden confidence reaching out from under his shy facade. If Armie didn't know any better, that look paired with the creeping curve of his smile seemed almost flirtatious. _Yes I came from school. You hate yourself right now, don’t you?_

"Of course you did. How old are you?" Armie tried to make it seem like a professional question but stifled a sigh and closed his eyes for a second longer than needed, bracing himself for definitely-too-young. Definitely-not-okay. 

"Seventeen."

Both fear and relief swamped Armie’s system. He was out of the danger zone but that meant he would have to now put real effort into restraining himself. 

"Turn for me." Armie gently pushed his fingers against Timothee's jaw, letting the tips dance over his skin there- guiding his head to the right. He unnecessarily repeated his action on the other side, never wanting to be finished, and watched a gulp undulate in Timothee's pale throat at the second, prolonged touch. 

Armie moved to rest his large hands on Timothee’s bony shoulders, his palms covering the entirety of each- an unnerving fragility in his grasp.

“How do you want me?” Timothee asked, this time with an unmistakeable glimmer of invitation that punched Armie low in the stomach.

He stood still against the urge of his frantic heartbeat and silently considered the fact that Timothee's delicate body would surely not withstand what he wanted to do to it.


	2. Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please stop talking. I'm trying to make you vaguely presentable so have a little respect and let me do my job."
> 
> Armie's photoshoot doesn't go as planned because _someone_ is thirsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, sorry this chapter took ages to post. Truth is, I wrote this like ten times and I got so frustrated with it I've basically settled on this and it was kind of rushed. 
> 
> Also, if someone can please invent another word with the same presence and magnitude as 'cock,' that would be great, thanks.

“How do you want me?” 

_That smug little fucker._

You don’t string those five words together in that precise order unless you're inviting someone to bend you to their will. Or at the very least, to reach inside their conscience and conjure the position they think about you being in when they claim you. 

It was too late anyway. Even his stoic form prompted an eruption of want that considered Timothee's body a silent mannequin for his consumption; a motionless artwork of flesh and bone that under Armie's trembling lips would be unable to complain at any inch of his worship.

He wondered if Timothee would recoil if he asked him to stay still and approached his body with intent. If he would shudder when Armie applauded the skin of his neck with his mouth- the tip of his tongue tasting every stellar pore; drinking him in as though he were the essence of youth and beauty, and by some spell he could become another person. Renewed. 

 

"You do this to all the boys that come through here?" Timothee asked, playfully. 

He'd been instructed to change into a white t-shirt, not unlike the one he'd just removed but undoubtedly fifty times the cost, and a pair of burgundy, leather slacks. Then to stand underneath a shower until he was positively saturated. The t-shirt clung to his slender body like a second skin- accentuating the hollows above his collar bones, the skeletal narrowness of his young, supple form. His hair, at Armie's request, had been wet only enough to ensure loose curls remained. 

A single curl fell in front of his face- defiant, feminine. Armie wanted to put it in his mouth and suckle at the moisture; to lick every glistening droplet from the porcelain skin of his face. 

"Not a lot of boys like _you_ come through here," he replied. A small, nervous smile rooting in the corners of his mouth. "Take a seat. I want you to recline as much as possible. Imagine you're a pissed off teenager."

"I _am_ a pissed off teenager..."

Timothee looked directly into his eyes from under thick eyelashes. A deliberate, tempting gaze that hunted for Armie's weakest spots. His bottom lip trapped between his teeth, waiting for a crack to appear so he could work his way inside it and get the rise he so clearly needed. 

Resolving to ignore whatever game he was playing, Armie began to adjust the lighting and took several test shots- the flashes highlighting every bead of water on his body. The boy was a nymph, lost in the real world- iridescent and celestial.

Looking at him strewn in the chair, completely sodden, his eyelashes glued together like a sixties starlet- Armie pictured the shoot he wished he'd been prepared for. Oil instead of water. A large, round lollipop pursing Timothee's lips open to the sizeable girth his own cock could create. The new It Boy reduced to a plaything for the front cover of Paper magazine. 

"How old are you?" Timothee asked, flatly. The kind of blunt and obtrusive question a poorly brought up child might ask. Armie answered with confused blinks and a mild shake of his head to indicate the irrelevance of his query. "You look like the kind of guy some people might have an irresistible urge to call 'Daddy,' y'know?"

 _Jesus fucking Christ. Turn back, kid._

Armie rubbed his face in agitation, grazing the stubble that audibly whispered against the roughend skin of his fingers. He let out a frustrated sigh- a decent amount of his rapidly waning professionalism leaving his body along with it. 

"Please stop talking. I'm trying to make you vaguely presentable so have a little respect and let me do my job." He'd intended this to be stern. But the want for Timothee to continue, to lay himself out in front of him until he broke and fell victim, softened the edge off his words until they sounded more like a plea. 

As he continued to shoot, it was clear that Timothee was using his body as a weapon. Teasing him with a subtle lift of his hips, a minor swipe of the tongue against his upper lip. His whole wretched form calling Armie towards it with no clear indication what would happen if he dared to treat his fingertips to the prize of those claret lips. The way a siren lures lost sailors to their death. 

The professional thing to do would have been to cease working, throw him a towel and tell him to get dressed because the shoot was over. _Because I can't concentrate. Because you're being a harlot. Because I can't control myself._ Cut his losses, the world's losses, and tell Haider the kid was nothing special after all. An outright, blatant lie.

Or it was time to call his bluff. 

Armie stepped closer until he was stood between Timothee's legs, towering above him. Looking at him through the camera, all Timothee could see of his face was the weekend's worth of stubble along his jaw, his forehead creased with focus and the protruding swell of his bottom lip, half hooked beneath his teeth. 

In this position, the front of Armie's jeans were in Timothee's eyeline- quietly harbouring the volumous and hardening curse of his model. He watched Timothee unabashedly glare at his crotch, almost taken aback at how close he now was. _I can give as hard as I get. Do not fuck with me._

"Camera's up here, kid... You're going to have a hard time in this industry if you can't find it to look at, " Armie signed in feigned frustration, slumping into a wheeled chair behind him. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"Yeah... I can't do that," Timothee answered around the continued camera flashes. 

Armie rolled the chair forward, slotting his knees gently between Timothee's and using them to slowly spread his legs wider. How easily Timothee moved under his pressure made him light-headed. It made him want to sell his soul to be able to take what he needed- although from the look in Timothee's eyes, it seemed he may not have to. 

"And why not..?" Armie continued, deciding suddenly, as if caught up in a wave and forced along with the ebbing tide, that he would take whatever he let him.

The answer came as Timothee sat upright and confidently reached his fingers out to the buckle of Armie’s belt. He looked up with dark eyes and rose his eyebrows above a communicative gaze that rather than asking for permission, simply said _let me._ Words unneeded because he knew Armie would never stop him anyway.

"Listen kid, I-" he intended on at least laying some ground rules but was stunted.

“Up.” Timothee urged him upwards by the front of his belt and Armie stood dutifully. He silently watched in awe as Timothee effortlessly undid the buckle with one hand, the other supporting him in the chair.

He felt every tiny amount of friction against his rapidly swelling cock as Timothee worked his jeans open. It ached him, pulled him into an unfamiliar space where he realised that he was not in charge and he probably hadn't been since the second they'd met.

"Fuck..." Armie let out breathily as Timothee yanked down his jeans and freed his now throbbing cock from the confines of his underwear.

Watching him take it in his palm, Armie tilted his head back with a shallow groan- his body responding in repressed tremors to knowing how heavy and thick the length of him must feel in Timothee's elegant hand.

As his fingers slowly wrapped around the shaft, Armie looked down to find Timothee's darkened eyes staring up at him. His face still covered in droplets of water- his lips open and wet. He wanted to shift himself in Timothee's grip- buck into it and used those fingers the way the good Lord intended, but he didn't feel he had the right. That he needed permission for such sacrilege. 

Timothee removed his hand and without breaking eye contact, brazenly announced "I want to put you in my mouth, please."

It was barely posed as a request, and even with the nod that indicated it was okay, Armie felt that Timothee would have taken what he wanted anyway.

He felt himself leak as Timothee's wet lips touched the tip. As soft as he'd imagined and now glossed with the bead of pre-come that smeared along his lower lip as he formed his mouth around the head. He swiped his tongue slowly up the slit, forcing an involuntary noise from the centre of Armie's throat. 

"You taste good," Timothee slurred with his mouth fully around Armie, his lips barely able to move from the width of him. The words vibrated through every nerve ending in Armie's cock and he felt himself drip further into Timothee's mouth. 

He wanted to push deeper inside, dig his fingers into those dampened curls and claim the boy's mouth like he would have with anyone else. Take what he thought he'd wanted this entire time and fuck it until his perfection was marred. Until he stopped being beautiful enough to want to sell his soul for. 

Timothee pulled his mouth away, leaving the top half of Armie's erection glistening with saliva. He resumed the position Armie had asked him to be in earlier and sank most of the way down in the chair. But this time, looking back into Armie's eyes as he stood there, unsure whether he had the right to move- Timothee sat on both his hands. 

"Armie..." he whispered. "Put your cock in my mouth." 

If the words weren't enough to make him want to come right then, the sight of Timothee below him, his hands detained of his own accord and lips parted in readiness, sure was. He was offering himself up in selfish sacrifice and it took several seconds for Armie to comprehend what was happening. This was a demand, not the eager beg one might anticipate from a teenager.

He wasn't trying to prove his worth. This wasn't an effort to please an older man and catapult his career. Armie recognised the fire in his eyes as something deeply familiar- a carnal want that transcended place and reason. This was entrapment and the realisation made Armie throb at the same pace as his own heartbeat. 

His initial plan of taking him down a peg had been stifled. He shuffled forward slowly, his eyes locked on Timothee’s- fully aware that he was about to take an order from a teenager but as backwards as the situation felt, not a single fibre of his being could refuse the unbearable urge to do as he was told. 

He had never felt quite this _owned._

With the camera still in one hand, he shook off his jeans and underwear and adjusted himself so that his legs were either side of Timothee's- straddling his reclined form. He walked as far forward as possible, Timothee's body disappearing under his stance until the tip of his cock just brushed his moistened lower lip. 

"You look scared," Timothee grinned, gently kissing the head with a slow 'o' shaped drag of his flushed lips. "Considering the size of you and the fact a practical stranger could choke me to death with their cock right now... shouldn't I be the one panicking? I mean, nobody knows I'm here- not even my mom."

"I'm not panicking," Armie smirked, fuelled by the now burning need for relief. "I'm just trying to figure out how to not do exactly that. I've no idea where I'd hide your body..." 

Timothee grinned, almost ecstatically, and Armie knew what he had to do. In one swift motion, he grabbed the back of the chair with his spare hand, pushed it and all of Timothee's weight backwards so that only the back two legs were still on the ground. He held it in position with ease, Timothee's bare, wet feet dangling above the floor. 

The demonstration of his size and strength pulled a quiet gasp from Timothee's throat. Armie's erection stood close enough to his mouth that Timothee could take it in if he only leant forward, but instead, he fully rested his head on the back of the chair. He opened his mouth, in what to the casual observer would look like obedience. But this was another instruction- that Armie felt privileged to receive.

"God..." he whispered, mostly to himself as he pushed his hips forward and realised the magnitude of his cock in relation to Timothee's delicate face. 

As he entered and felt his hot, wet tongue on the underside of his shaft, he let a quiet moan escape his throat. He realised very quickly that Timothee was not prepared to move a muscle and if he wanted to keep feeling it, he would have to thrust into his mouth. He suddenly didn't trust himself. 

But he pressed forward between Timothee's purposefully tightened lips- the soft undersides of them gliding like silk on every backwards drag. Stretching around the girth of him in selfish servitude and forcing the coil of lust in Armie's stomach to tighten. 

"Make me take it, Armie," Timothee managed. "You can do better than that."

Armie felt the blood rush frantically through his shaft as he followed orders and pushed deeper inside the cavern of Timothee's mouth. The length of him harder than he'd ever felt and throbbing to distraction with every graze of Timothee's tongue- every increasingly firm nudge to the back of his throat. 

"Fuck-k-k..." Armie stuttered, unsure now much longer her could last. He desperately wanted to feel Timothee's hands on him in tandem but they remained restrained under his thighs. 

The kid had reduced himself to an object. _True model material._ He felt Timothee hum softly around his cock, tingling the slickened, sensitive skin. If Timothee was inanimate, his body was a church. Armie's painfully tumescent length worshipping the beauty of it with every single stroke. His building orgasm, a soul-saving prayer.

"Tim-" Armie said urgently, his breathing erratic to match the loosening grasp he had on his welling eruption. "...othee... your mouth... I-"

Timothee was unable to speak, so full of Armie's repeated thrust, but mumbled something incoherent which prompted Armie to remove himself. Timothee remained suspended from the floor and crossed his ankles in the air. 

"Come in my mouth. I don't want to be ruined for the rest of the shoot."

Armies jaw went slack in disbelief but he resumed his task. In less than a minute he felt the surging heat of his climax reach its threshold and as directed, let himself expel inside timothee's mouth- shooting hard into the chapel of his throat. Timothee gently brushed the tip of his tongue in one spot on the underside of his shaft, dragging out his orgasm until Armie felt he'd been cleansed of sin. 

On resetting Timothee's chair safely on the ground, Armie took a step back and looked through the camera. Timothee was still wet, without a curl out of place. But his eyes were heavy and the outside of his mouth flushed with a pink glow from its overuse. He clicked the shutter. 

"Am I a star yet?" Timothee giggled mockingly with the tone of a struggling actress. 

"Not yet, Kid." A blatant lie given that the shot he'd just taken was more breathtaking than anything in his recent portfolio. He pulled his jeans back on over his semi-hard cock, still glistening with Timothee's spit. 

"I'm back in town next week shooting Gucci," he said before drawing on a fresh cigarette and handing over his business card. "If you want to come along, we can try you for it."

He shone a genuine smile at Armie- both surprised and grateful.

 

"Just fucking behave yourself next time."


	3. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You come on this Gucci and we are both dead..."
> 
> Armie struggles shooting Timothee in a room full of mirrors. 
> 
> (AKA There are literally one hundred reflections of Timothee Chalamet and it's enough to kill a man.)

“This is a mirrored chamber. It’ll be just you inside,” Armie began. “I’ll be controlling a couple of different cameras that look in from the outside. The whole room is lined with mirrors at varying angles, so we get an almost kaleidoscopic effect and can see the outfit from multiple perspectives.”

Timothee nodded in silence and looked up and down at the black hexagonal shape in front of him. He reached out with slender fingers and gently touched one of the plush wall panels.

“Just me?”

Armie smiled with a satisfaction he shouldn’t be able to place. “I didn’t call you here just to fuck your mouth again, kid.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Timothee answered with a wry smile.

He looked good. He’d already proven himself to be a completely different calibre to the other models at the shoot. Armie had a right mind to drag him up in front of them and say _This. This is how you change the world._

He had no idea why he thought seeing Timothee would be easier the second time round. For some incomprehensible reason, he thought he might get to keep his soul this time. If anything, it was worse. He’d been professionally coiffed- his curls were especially glossy and smelt floral from product. His eyelashes coated with clear mascara that made them even longer than usual. Every sweep of them opening on to starry eyes that seemed to have their own gravitational pull. 

Timothee was dressed in a smart casual ensemble. Cropped satin suit trousers, a t-shirt tucked tightly into the waistband and a collarless mohair blazer with ribbed cuffs. Entirely black. Perfectly cut and pressed to accentuate his slender form. Past the expanse of delicate ankle, on the feet that Armie remembered vividly, sat pristine Gucci trademark sneakers. 

Armie pushed open the door and followed Timothee into the room where suddenly there were endless reproductions of him- a kaleidoscopic array that echoed into to furthest horizon in every mirror. They must have been a hundred reflections and every single one the embodiment of perfection.

“Woah...” Timothee whispered, taking in the audience of himself.

He took a step forward and quickly realised the mirrors created the illusion that they had a lot more space than reality accounted for. Between the angled walls, the hexagonal floor space measured less than six feet across. He reached his hand out in front of him- long fingers nearly touching the nearest mirror when Armie grabbed his wrist.

“Jesus Christ! Do not touch anything in here except the floor, got it? All this glass takes too long to clean for you to get your grubby fingers all over it.” 

Timothee smiled at Armie’s reflection, standing head and shoulders above his own and let his arm go limp. If their last shoot was anything to go by, Armie knew he had to keep his wits about him and decided to make a swift exit.

“I’ll be just outside the door- you’ll be able to hear me direct you through a speaker. Give me something special, kid.”

Timothee nodded into the mirror- a hundred pairs of eyes watching Armie take a final glance at the flushed lip half caught between his teeth.

With the door closed behind him, he took a deep breath and began to work- grateful for the divide between them. Timothee couldn’t get into his head if he couldn’t physically reach out and touch. Despite the relentless yearning for contact and the whirring memory of their last encounter, Armie thought the shoot was going well. besides the memory alone making his cock twitch helplessly inside his jeans.

“That’s great, kid... now turn to look at your reflection in the mirror behind you, so that your back is to the camera. Perfect. Chin up. _Perfect._ ” 

“I like that you call me ‘kid..’” Timothee pouted, a devious smile invading a corner of his mouth. His eyelids suddenly heavier.

_For the love of god. Here we go._

Armie exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling suddenly ridiculous for thinking he’d come away from this session unscathed. Timothee’s need to bend and break him was apparently not a one-time thing. 

“You know,” Armie began, his voice quiet in the microphone. “I can never tell if you mean what you say or if it’s all just for attention. But I’d appreciate it if-“

“Oh, I mean it,” Timothee cut him off. He was still facing the mirror but now his eyes found the reflection of the camera and looked through it. “I don’t often get to feel so… tiny. It’s a thing.”

A thing. Armie recalled their first meeting. _“Daddy.”_

He shook his head, the irony of the situation not going unnoticed. Here was a seventeen-year-old boy, who somehow had him wrapped around his little finger and made him feel like a fucking high-schooler while admitting that he likes larger, older men. 

“It makes me hard when I think about how small you make me feel…”

 

Something in Armie snapped. A pressure building in his chest, somewhere between anger, hatred and a desire so fierce he almost feared it. He got up from his chair and swung open the door to the chamber. It slammed shut behind him. 

Hovering behind Timothee who still had his back to him, their eyes met in the mirror- a knowing, hungry glare that Armie couldn’t be bothered to disguise. He took a slow step forward until his chest gently touched Timothee’s back, and reach a hand out to rest against the mirror in front of them- caging Timothee in on his right side.

 

“You are going to be the fucking death of me, kid- I swear to god..” Armie whispered with his mouth flush against the top of Timothee’s ear. Their eyes locked together in the reflection.

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to touch anything in here?” Timothee answered in feigned innocence- his words melting away with a knowing smirk.

Armie felt every muscle in his back tighten- his jaw stiff with anger that he’d let himself get to this point. He was staring at Timothee’s mouth, freshly wet and inviting. He found himself wanting to use his own like a toddler exploring the world, because sight alone wasn’t enough. To know and understand every inch of Timothee’s body through putting parts of him between his lips and licking, biting, tasting. 

What was good and what was not? What was safe for consumption? Which parts of his body would make him beg for more time with them because he would never be done with worshipping of the soles of his feet- the immaculate cavern of his armpits. 

Armie had found a new religion. 

“No, I said you weren’t allowed to touch anything in here. I’m allowed to touch anything I want...”

“Well, not _anything..._ ”

With a surge of confidence spurred on by the blood rushing to his cock and the proximity of Timothee’s supple body, Armie moved his hand from the mirror and used that arm to hold Timothee back against him. His palm and splayed fingers taking up most of the surface area of his chest. 

After a still few seconds, TImothee’s lack of retort screaming volumes into the silence, Armie brought his lips to his ear. “Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission...” 

Timothee’s eyes were dark, desperate. Stark in contrast to the could-care-less attitude he put out as Armie towered over him. A prolonged moment of tension followed- Armie not daring to move and feeling the curious power possessed within the body in his grasp. 

“Mr Hammer?” Timothee began, his voice slightly higher than normal- painted with an innocence so deliberately transparent it cut through Armie’s stomach with savage anticipation.

“Yes, Timothee?”

“Touch me.” 

Armie let a shallow groan escape his throat- the command controlling his hands before his brain had chance to process it. The right hand pressed into his chest held firmly while the other dutifully undid his trousers, finding the firm outline of Timothee’s hardening cock. 

“Wow, you weren’t joking, were you?” Armie muttered on an inwards breath- his own struggling member responding accordingly to the sensation, as he made his way to free Timothee from the confines of his underwear. 

Timothee answered with a shallow gasp as Armie gently dragged his fingers up and down the length of him. He was standing with both arms hanging straight at his sides, completely open for Armie’s taking.

“I look so good in your hands,” Timothee managed between increasingly laboured breaths. He was watching the myriad of his own reflection- the hundred versions of his cock resting fully erect in Armie’s massive palm.

Armie had to agree, although Timothee looked so frail in comparison the size of himself it seemed somewhat vulgar. To any onlooker it might appear that Timothee had wound up in a vulnerable position he couldn’t escape from. Backed into a man nearly twice his age, being held against his will.

But how achingly hard he was and the open lust of his mouth gave him away. Armie felt like an accessory to his need- as if he were being worn just like the jacket on his back. Borrowed and unworthy despite its expense. 

With every stroke of his tightened grip, Timothee’s body rocked gently back into him- his ass pressing against Armie’s increasingly tender, swollen cock. The friction of it against him stoking a fire- a desperate energy born from the ashes of his self-control. It welled in the shallows of his stomach, needy the way he remembered feeling at fifteen- when a simple slide against the mattress would result in combustion. 

“I cannot believe I’m letting you do this to me again, kid,” Armie breathed into his hair, his mouth opening and letting a few curls dance against his lips. He was growing harder with every press of Timothee against his crotch. He began to stroke him firmer, the full length of him disappearing inside his huge palm- his fragile form forced back against Armie each time his fist reached the base of his shaft. It took everything Armie had not push his hips into him to create further traction. but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t last and like the schoolboy he ironically felt, would end up coming inside his jeans.

“You’re not putting up much of a fight...” Timothee replied, his fingers moving up to Armie’s neck and reaching around to hold himself steadier as his legs weakened beneath him. 

In the mirror, Timothee watched Armie’s face bury in his hair- lips pressed against his skull and sharp, blue eyes peering over the top at their reflection. He saw him glance in another mirror, angled to show their profile, and noticed the obscenity of Armie’s erection tenting the jeans against his ass. As if he couldn’t already feel it and that in itself wasn’t aiding his own tumescence. 

“You’re so fucking hard.” Timothee’s words cut through him and he felt himself leak- a wet patch forming inside his underwear. He realised he was working Timothee’s cock as if it were his own. Like there wasn’t the slender body of a teenage boy sandwiched between the head of his shaft and the area he felt his orgasm brewing. 

Remembering where they were and the purpose of their meeting, Armie panicked and with his spare hand, ushered down Timothee’s trousers and underwear- letting them fall on top of the sneakers. He pulled up the black t-shirt, exposing the hairless, pale plain of his stomach and tucked its hem under his armpit inside the jacket- keeping it up out the way.

“You come on this Gucci and we are both dead,” Armie whispered, his lips dragging against Timothee’s ear- the close dampness of his words pulling Timothee’s mouth wider in response. He couldn’t imagine someone with as much control and power as Timothee actually letting go enough to climax. He wondered if the kid would just stand perfectly still and with a sharp inhale it would all be over.

But his knees were trembling and his eyes wide and dark with need. Armie felt his fingers reach back and pull at the button on his jeans, then the zip, before pushing them down. His underwear followed and within a second his swollen, damp length brushed up and down the crease of Timothee’s ass- his bare skin electrifying and warm in fresh and curious contact with the heat of Armie’s cock.

They both moaned at the new sensation- neither one shifting their eyes from their reflection in the mirror directly across from them. A completely fresh energy taking over- the understanding that another time or place with more adequate preparation would have capitalised on their proximity and Armie would have asked nicely to enter him in servitude. His cock filling Timothee to satisfy his need alone. Armie’s own orgasm a second thought to worshiping him from the inside.

“I want you to make yourself come like this,” Timothee announced- his words cutting through the melody of heavy breathing that was slowly fogging up the mirrors.

Like this. Like being a school boy and inadvertently finding pleasure in the touch of a simple bed sheet brushing against his tender length. Rubbing himself raw against the mattress before the sun was fully up.

Armie paid attention to nothing but the ache of his leaking shaft as it pressed against Timothee’s ass- sliding up and down the crease with every pull of his hand on Timothee’s swollen cock. He had no doubt that he could come like this. The feeling of him in his fingers, the tight, wet fist he held around him, made Armie throb as if it was himself he worked on.

“Fuck, Timothee...” Armie exhaled, desperate to hang on, burying his mouth in Timothee’s hair in an effort to keep quiet. 

He released the arm that had been holding Timothee back against him. With his support missing and his legs barley able to function, Timothee reached out both hands and at arm’s length, leant his weight into the mirror opposite. Armie slid his now free hand to grab Timothee’s right ass cheek and pull it to the side- letting the length of himself brush directly over the sensitive and twitching skin of Timothee’s entrance.

“Oh... my god..” Timothee panted, exaggerating the curve in his lower back. A mirror to his left angled perfectly to show Armie’s forehead pressed into the top of his hair, his mouth hanging open and eyes focused on his cock as it grazed teasingly against the hole. 

Desperately wanting to contain himself, to be the adult here, Armie tried to focus on anything and everything that wasn’t the shuddering shift in texture against the boiling, desperate skin of his shaft. Anything but the tight ring of muscle that kissed the head of his cock every other second- where he left his precome smeared and his dreams dashed, because there is no way a boy so slight could take the girth of him anyway.

“Armie, that feels so fucking good,” Timothee panted, rocking his hips gently to push himself deeper and harder into Armie’s hand. “I’m going to come... thinking about you fucking me with that thing.. god-d-d-“

The syllables strung out as Timothee came with an emotional, impetuous moan- shooting over the mirror in front of him, his whole body trembling. 

“Oh.. I will...” Armie’s own orgasm arrived suddenly only a moment later- hard and heavy in the same breath as those few words that bypassed his logic and came straight from the depths of his need. His throat pushing forward a preposterous idea considering that this was already the second time he’d managed to find himself tangled up in this kid. And it should really be the last.

“Is that a promise or a threat..?” Timothee smirked through the remnants of his climax, breathing deeply and feeling Armie’s hot come drip wastefully between his ass cheeks and run down the creamy length of his inner thighs. 

Armie rubbed his face with the hand not covered in expulsion and tried to gather himself. He pulled up his jeans while taking a step back to check the state of Timothee’s clothing.

Timothee kicked off the trousers and underwear from around his ankles- using the latter to wipe the evidence of Armie from his body. 

Armie pressed his hands together as if in prayer and brought them flush to his lips, drawing in air between his teeth. Thinking in a series of obscenities. Praying for his soul. 

“I’m guessing we’re done here?” Timothee adjusted himself, pulling clothes back into place and raking his fingers through his hair. Not a strand out of place as if he’d only just arrived. 

“Yeah… Got the shot in the first two minutes,” Armie admitted in euphoric honesty. He watched Timothee take a step towards the door, then half way out of it before adding “By the way…”

Timothee stopped and looked up into one of the mirrors to meet Armie’s eyes. It occurred to them both that they hadn’t made direct eye contact since before they entered the chamber. Tension rose in Armie’s chest as he made a move to ignore his better judgement. 

“… it was a threat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very special thanks to @lucythemermaid for painstakingly editing my porn <3
> 
> I'm @c-u-at-midnight on Tumblr.


	4. Altar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Altar,** noun.  
>  _An elevated place or structure, as a mound or platform, at which religious rites are performed or on which sacrifices are offered to gods, etc._
> 
> (Yes this is for _you._ No, I'm not sorry.)

"Holy fuck," Armie froze just inside the door, dropping his jaw just as quickly as the camera bag that landed with a blunt thud at his feet.

Armie had never felt his heart stop beating before. It wasn't a pleasant experience but it at least reminded him he did have one somewhere in the cavern of his chest. It was unfortunately, wholly occupied with the sexual need for a specific seventeen year old boy and the scene that greeted him now was enough to incite cardiac arrest.

He took it all in between disbelieving blinks with all the blood in his body rushing to the base of his cock. This was not the styling he'd requested for the shoot. It wasn't even the right room. But he couldn't be angry when he'd forgotten how to breathe.

Timothee was _supposed_ to be wearing thick, grey woollen slacks, rolled up at the hems with white ankle socks. With pink silk camisole on the top. Made up with a touch of lip-gloss and mascara in a celebration of androgyny for the winter issue of Italian Vogue. He was _supposed_ to be leaning against the Georgian-style fireplace with a cigarette in his mouth- doing that thing he does with his eyes that brings the world to its knees. 

Instead, he was reclining in a brown leather armchair- his bare feet dangling over the side. He'd added a silk robe that matched his camisole which hung suggestively off one shoulder. His makeup was as expected- but the entire lower half of his body was stark naked. He played with his cock, languidly, in one hand. 

"Timothee..." Armie started. He knew he should scald him. Tell him to get dressed and stop messing about. But who was he kidding.  
He was staring at the creamy skin of his thighs, the curve of his ass, so pale against the leather. Aesthetic in its own right and echoing the very contrast between Timothee's fragile appearance and his tenacious empowerment. 

He bent down and removed the camera from his bag before walking across the floorboards towards him. Up close, the colour of his lips matched the exact shade of his camisole. Each of his delicate fingernails were painted black and glinted in the autumn light streaming through the window behind him. 

Towering over him, Armie positioned the camera and clicked the shutter rhythmically from several similar angles before looking him dead in the eye and whispering thoughtlessly in unanticipated reflex, an expression of honest disbelief. "You are fucking incredible." 

Timothee swung his legs around and planted his feet to the floor before silently beginning to unbutton Armie's jeans. 

"This is a great room," he casually complimented. "Very... regal." He glanced at the imitation Georgian oak wall panelling before pulling Armie's underwear down with his jeans, smiling at fact he was already semi-hard. "Off, off, off," he continued, silently prompting Armie to remove his shoes and socks before stepping out of his clothing. "You can keep this t-shirt on. I like it."

Armie looked at him with wide eyes Excuse me? before checking which shirt he had on. It was a tatty promotional shirt for an old film about a gay summer romance. _Crema 1983_ scrawled across his chest. He'd be surprised if Timothee had actually seen it, but then again, the kid was full of surprises.

This was not how Armie envisaged things going. What happened to his threat? If he was honest with himself, he's said it out of habit. Promised a threat because having control was all he'd ever known. Using his body to deconstruct and devour. But he’d been in the room barely ten minutes and was already putty in Timothee’s hands. The control he had over him seemed more of a threat than anything Armie had it in him to bestow. You would never tell an angel to get on its knees. 

In the amount of time it took Armie to punish himself, they’d moved to the bed. And after inexplicably following the orders of a teenager, he found himself with two, then three fingers inside Timothee. His breath held in fascination as he worked him open. His mouth parted as he watched the curls fall into his eyes- the odd strand cling to his lower lip, stuck with lipgloss.

Lying on his back, Timothee brought each foot to rest on the front of Armie's shoulders as he knelt upright between his legs. Armie's huge hands closing over their arches to hold them in place. 

"You sure about this?" Armie asked with a nervous smile and received an enthusiastic but silent nod in return. Timothee's bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Make me feel it..."

A sharp pang of lust speared itself through Armie's chest- his cock responding to the demand the way it should, realising that there was no way in hell the kid _wouldn't_ feel it. He was ambitious, he'd give him that much.

Lubricated extravagantly, still unable to fathom how someone so slight could ever accommodate him, Armie pressed his way inside. Painfully slow out of necessity. His heart pounding, gluttony lurching forward in the depths of his stomach like an untrained animal. He wanted to close his eyes to gather himself but the sight of Timothee below him. An altar at which his cock prayed for its pass to heaven, begging his full attention. 

He watched carefully for the transition on Timothee's face- waiting for his discomfort to turn to pleasure before pushing his hips forward gently, sinking deeper.

"No. Don't move. I want to do it."

Armie stopped dead. His body frozen under the command. His throbbing cock solid and still, pushed halfway inside Timothee to perfect dilation. 

"I'm going to make myself come on your cock, Armie."

With that, Armie tightened his hold on Timothee's feet and watched him brace himself. His upper back pressing into the mattress, bearing all of his weight. His hands palm-down underneath him, keeping the lower half his body suspended from the bed. Using Armie as a platform, he gently rocked himself back and forth on Armie's widening shaft.

"God, I can feel you growing inside me..." His laboured breath a testament to the need in his efforts. Every inch of Armie that disappeared inside him was something he had to have. A claim. His _right._ Knees bent, Timothee used his core strength to move down to the base of the shaft and back again. Slowly, over and over. 

Armie desperately wanted to move. To shift his hips forward and push all the way inside. To take rather than somehow, inexplicably, be taken. Reduced to a prop despite his dominant position- a statue for Timothee to work himself on at his leisure. 

With every motion, every slide towards and then away from Armie's pelvis, Timothee's camisole rode higher. The straps falling loosely in abandonment off his bony shoulders. The lace folding over itself as silk bustled up around the top of his abdomen. The dark pink of his nipples, hard and exposed. 

"Tell me how it feels," Timothee managed, slowly- his eyes meeting Armie's as if attempting to extract the information through want alone. 

"You feel so good, Timothee.." Armie groaned. "I want to move, so badly- you have no idea." He released Timothee's left foot from his grasp though it stayed in place against his shoulder, rooted there. In lieu of being allowed to thrust forward, Armie observed Timothee's leaking, rigid cock and went to hold it in his hand- his fingers almost reaching skin before he was instructed otherwise.

"No!" Timothee exclaimed. "I want to come like this... I know I can." 

Armie nodded in silent amazement and bit his lip to stop himself from screaming. Timothee's erection was begging for attention. The damp heat of a mouth, the firm clasp of a hand. But he let it stand there untouched, flushed and dripping, while he swallowed as much of Armie's cock inside himself as he could manage- bumping it against his prostate with increasing rapidity. Forcing himself open to accommodate its obscene length and breadth. 

Armie knew Timothee's tightness would literally pull the orgasm from him if he wasn't careful. He could coax it out in a manner of seconds if Armie had had less discipline. Every smooth, tenacious drag was a motion closer to him becoming a gibbering, spurting wreck. Unprofessional. Immature.

"Tell me I'm pretty..." Timothee groaned. He watched Armie's eyes cast over the narrowness of his waist, the baby-soft, hairless skin of his torso.

"Wha-? God _yes_ you're pretty... so pretty... you're fucking _beautiful_ …" the words stumbled out of his mouth before he could check himself and retain any sense of control. He lustfully drank in the sight before him and thought nothing had ever been truer. No one had ever looked this good. No one had ever handled all six foot five of his body like their own. Like it was free to use, to bend, to break. 

Suddenly, the pressure inside him became too much.

"I want to come..." Armie managed around heavy breaths. Not asking for permission, of course, because he'd never done that in his life and he wasn't about to start now. But giving fair warning in case Timothee wished otherwise- because this whole situation wasn't really about him. It was about Timothee taking what he needed. 

"Wait, just.. hold on.." came the reply. His eyes closing firmly as if to concentrate harder. 

Timothee's body suddenly tensed up and groaning with pleasure he slid himself as far down Armie's length as he could, taking every inch of it inside himself until he came thickly over his own stomach. It stained the silk of his camisole and caught in its lace like dew in a spider's web. He gently rolled his hips through the orgasm, moving no more than an inch back and forth- prolonging his pleasure and tightening like a vice around Armie's cock.

Buried inside Timothee's spasming body, Armie's own climax ripped through him with a force that turned him inside out. An ungodly and unexpected moan parting ways with the urgently collapsing shell of himself. Timothee continued to move very slightly, gently- still completely full. His eyes closed in bliss, drawing in satisfied breaths as if he was feeding his own body with Armie's release. 

"Oh my GOD..." Armie exhaled. "Fuck... FUCK." He remained completely still- drained and sensitive but not pulling out. _Let me die here._

Timothee shook the curls from his face and smiled up at Armie, smugly - his cheeks flushed with a post-orgasmic glow. 

"I thought this was a photoshoot," he grinned- a cheeky, careless glint in his eyes. "Aren't you gonna take some photos..?"

Armie recalled the last photo of Timothee he'd submitted for publication. The magazine editor and the entire nation having no idea that he'd just taken Armie's entire length in his throat The redness of his lips a genuine, raw soreness. A mixture spit and semen plastering them with a slick shine like expensive gloss.

He looked around for his camera, thankful to find it within arms reach so didn't have to pull out. He popped the lens cap and adjusted the focus- framing him so that everything from the top of his stomach to his dishevelled curls were in shot. Timothee brought a hand up to his mouth, turning it palm-outwards and bit on his bent index finger, showing off his painted nails- his pink lips enveloping the knuckle. 

One of his nipples remained exposed on the side where his camisole strap still slipped from his shoulder. The silk lay ridden up around the top of his torso, gleaming in the light. 

Changing his position slightly in any way caused him to shift a fraction on Armie's cock. Timothee seemed to take the fact he was still impaled in his stride, a true professional- while Armie's jaw increasingly dropped, his breathing growing erratic until eventually Timothee slid himself off him, leaving him shaken and desperate. 

*

On his way out, Timothee reached up and with the very tips of his long fingers, gently brushed Armie's jaw, encouraging him to turn his face towards his own. His eyes locked firmly on his lips. _This is how kisses start_ , Armie thought- unsure whether that was what he wanted or not.

Not proud of himself but settling on Yes, he slowly moved inward, unexpectedly excited at thought; only for Timothee to turn his face away, smirking like he'd won a game. _Fucking child._

"God, I hate you..." Armie's intended kiss turned into the widest smile- his lips moving against Timothee's cheek with every word. 

Timothee grinned immediately at the sentiment, moving his mouth to Armie's neck and taking in the scent as loudly as possible; a huge inward gasp, with which he pressed himself into Armie's body and felt his newly hardened cock against his own. A low moan emanated from his throat as he gently rolled his hips, adding pressure to Armie's undulating need for him and ultimately proving his point. 

It was like lighting a fire all over again, his body responding before he had chance to think. Reduced to a school boy whose erection was pointed out in class. Unable to control himself and knowing he'd have to repeat their afternoon in his head as soon as Timothee left. His tightened fist a poor substitute for the heavenly vice of Timothee's young, supple body. 

Timothee dragged his lips up to meet Armie's. Again, only the idea of a kiss but no promise of one in sight. Orchestrating the moment the way he'd controlled everything since the second they'd met. He let his lips dance teasingly against Armie's and whispered into his mouth. A parting caress over the knot of lust in Armie's stomach.

"No, you don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thanks again to @lucythemermaid for editing this hot mess for me <3 
> 
> I'm @c-u-at-midnight on Tumblr.


End file.
